


Lost Pieces on a Broken Board

by lillpon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillpon/pseuds/lillpon
Summary: “The best people in the world will challenge you, make you see the world through a whole new looking glass.” The final season of Once Upon a Time, as seen by Detective Rogers.





	1. The Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, my first multi-chapter! Wish me luck :P
> 
> This fic was inspired by [Willofthewisp](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1043806/Willofthewisp)'s similar fics, [An Awfully Big Adventure](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10069971/1/An-Awfully-Big-Adventure) and [Hearts and Monsters](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10900931/1/Hearts-and-Monsters), fics that show Seasons 2-3 and 4-5 respectively from Killian's POV. This fic is by no means an attempt to copy or act as a sequel to the above fics, but they served as a great inspiration and I wanted to give proper credit. (Also if you love the first iteration of Killian, do yourself a favour and read them! They're awesome!)
> 
> Beta by the awesome hookaroo (Tumblr) aka ListerOfTardis (FFnet).

The alarm rings at five in the morning, as it does every day.

Rogers wakes up, washes his face, eats a hearty breakfast and he leaves before six, as he does every day.

Every day, a routine... one he doesn't really mind, not now.

He may have been sober for years now, but a routine has always helped.

If only his routine could be broken by him finding one specific missing person...

Instead, just like any other day, civilians come and go, asking for help. His willingness to help, to be useful, to receive a thank you or even a smile is not only one of a kind in his precinct, but also a fodder for jokes from his colleagues.

It wouldn't make sense for the jokes to disappear today.

"Hey, hello," he hears at some point while he's tidying up some paperwork. "I think my car was stolen."

"Really? That sucks," he hears Sam, the desk sergeant, say. Oh, typical Sam. Rogers hurries up with the papers in an effort to reach the upset civilian as soon as possible.

"Yeah, so... can you look for it?"

"Sure. No problem," Sam says and Rogers mouths his words as he does. Not the first time Sam would choose enjoying his coffee over actually helping. "How 'bout I, uh, look under my desk here. Nope, I'm stumped."

Just in time, Rogers enters through the door. "Don't worry. I'll help you," he says and pulls Sam's chair backwards. He turns to the man on the other side of the desk. "Some of us still care about police work. Some of us still want to help people."

"Have at it,  _Eagle Scout_ ," Sam says, to no one's surprise.

"So what happened, mate? Missing auto?" Rogers says as he retrieves the respective papers, seeing the man nod. "All right. Here, fill this out."

"How long is this gonna take?" the man asks.

"Well, that's hard to tell. I'll call around the impound lots, but honestly, most people find them stripped in a parking lot somewhere. So our best bet's hitting the pavement."

"Yeah. Okay. Fine," he says as he fills out the papers. "Whatever it takes. I gotta get out of this place."

Rogers squints a little at the man's bitterness. Hyperion Heights has been his home for... well, for as long as he can remember, excluding his times in foster homes. But he just nods as the man - Henry Mills, as per the papers - gives them over. He probably has his reasons.

~

A few hours later, Henry returns, not less upset and disgruntled. Rogers telling him his car hasn't been found yet doesn't help.

"Really? You checked every lot and chop shop and none of them have my car?"

"Yes. And seeing as I'm the only one here willing to help you, you might want to curb your agitation a bit," Rogers retorts. _It's just one of those days_ , he thinks, regretting his tone.

"Sorry," Henry says, still upset.

Rogers softens his voice and face. "Look, I'm on your side. Just give me time."

"Officer Rogers, whatever you're working on can wait," Ms. Belfrey's strict voice sounds from the entrance. Rogers winces slightly. He's never really liked this woman, and her authoritative tone doesn't help.

"Ms. Belfrey, what can I do for you?" he asks anyway. He hasn't earned his nickname for nothing.

"Find my granddaughter," she says.

"Lucy's missing?" Henry says.

"Mr. Mills, you're still here."

"Believe me, I'm trying not to be. Just need to find my car."

"Hm. Jacinda's also missing. I don't suppose you have any idea where they ran off to, do you?"

Henry and Rogers exchange a look. "Uh... no." Henry says, and Rogers’ training allows him to catch the lie immediately.

And apparently, so does Belfrey. She lowers her gaze and walks closer to Henry. "Mr. Mills," she says, "I do know what you think of me, but I do care about my girls."

"You sure have a funny way of showing it," Henry says, and Rogers suppresses a smile. It's not often he sees someone as bold in front of Belfrey. Perhaps it's the fact that Henry's not a local.

"Jacinda tends to make mistakes," Belfrey adds, unaffected. "But if she wants to build a better life for herself and her daughter, she simply can't do it by running away from her problems." She looks,  _stares_ at him until he nods. "Tell me what you know. You want your car back? Help me find my girls."

Henry turns towards Rogers, unsure. Rogers simply raises his eyebrows and shrugs. Belfrey's a cold woman, but she does provide for her family, and that's a trait Rogers will never be unaffected by.

"Uh, she... she talked about an island she- she sees on her way to work," Henry says reluctantly. "She said she imagines an ideal life for her and Lucy there."

"Her way to work, huh?" She seems to think for a moment. "Must be Bainbridge Island. As I said, she won't solve her problems by running away from them. Officer, can you search for my girls at the Ferry Terminal there?"

"I'll do my best," Rogers says in a low voice.

"I'll send in my daughter Ivy to follow you in your investigation," she says and without a second word, turns and leaves.

"So much for caring for her girls," Henry says when she's out of earshot. "Leaving when she could be doing something to help. And did she just threaten my car?"

"Close enough, but there's nothing I can do," Rogers retorts.

"Hey, was it- was it bad? What I did? I feel like I just... sold them out." He seems more nervous now.

Rogers sighs. "They could just as well have been kidnapped. And Belfrey's worried, despite her cruel appearance."

Henry nods, but doesn't seem convinced. "I don't know, I just... wanted to help."

Rogers nods. "If they're truly missing, any information is important," he says and sees Ivy entering and walking towards them. She looks at Henry and for half a second, her expression changes to a mix of distaste and near panic, but it quickly changes to her usually authoritative look, much like the one her mother wears.

~

Rogers can't help but notice how Ivy drums her fingers against her tiny purse. He doesn't comment on it, but her strained blabbering about how she's worried about her niece and step-sister don't convince him that's what her nervousness is about.

Finally, they reach the terminal and Rogers is surprised to feel not relief, but dismay at the sight of a young woman hugging a girl close. The image brings the familiar-slash-unfamiliar pang in his chest, but he focuses on his job and turns off the siren.

"That's them!" Ivy says and prepares to get out of the cruiser as soon as it stops. He exits too and stays by the cruiser, while Ivy walks towards the other two.

"Lucy, come here. Now," Ivy says. Rogers watches as the girl reluctantly obeys after kissing her mother's cheek. "Your grandmother is worried sick," Ivy adds.

"Just not worried enough to show up," the woman, probably Jacinda, retorts as she stands up. "How did you find us?"

"Mr. Mills told us about your little island fantasy," Ivy says, and the bitterness and arrogance in her tone push the words past Rogers’ mouth before he can control them.

"He was only trying to help," he blurts out, trying to soften the blow.

"That's not true," Lucy says. "H-h-he wouldn't do that."

"The truth hurts more than fiction. Speaking of which," Ivy says and opens Lucy's backpack, ignoring her plea to stop. She retrieves a thick white book and passes it over to him. "Officer Rogers, can you please put this in evidence? Or get rid of it, or destroy it, or- I don't care, it has caused enough trouble."

Rogers glances at the book before looking back at Lucy, who is being pushed towards the cruiser by Ivy, and then at Jacinda, her broken face upsetting him more than it should. He looks at the book again.  _Once Upon a Time_. Despite its cheesy title, it piques his curiosity and he flips through the pages until he sees an illustration of...  _her_.

Like a flashback, blurred memories assault him. The pain of his gunshot wound, the slight tremors left over from his detox, the shame of having failed again... and then that woman, his saviour, appearing.

Helping him.

_Just look at me..._

_... believe..._

Saving him.

"Everything okay?" Ivy's question brings him back and he turns to her. Lucy's already settled in and they're waiting for him...

"Yeah, everything's okay," he says, hoping they won't catch his lie. Things couldn't be any less okay.

~

For the whole ride back to the station, the only thing he can think of is the illustration of that woman. He never even found out her name. She didn't come with him to the hospital, he couldn't find her when he searched the place a few days later, when he asked around... nothing. Like an angel who'd appeared out of nowhere, saved him and didn't even ask for a thank-you.

He owed her more than his miserable life, and she at least deserved to get something back.

"Will I see my mom again?" Lucy asks her grandmother, and it tugs at Rogers' heartstrings to hear her say that.

"Yes, my dear. But first she has to learn how to take care of herself. You'll have to move in with me now."

Her face looks soft and caring, but her tone betrays her bitterness over the situation. Lucy pouts and turns towards Ivy, who appears impatient to leave, not even looking at her niece.

He can't help thinking it's not fair, that her mother deserves a second chance-

He closes his eyes and clenches his hand into a fist.

_Get it together, mate!_

What's wrong with him today? Why is this getting so personal all of a sudden?

He turns away from the scene, enters the station and struggles against the urge to slam the door closed in anger.

"Hey, Eagle Scout," Sam says, adding oil to the fire. Rogers stops and looks at him impatiently. "I hear congrats are in order."

"What are you talking about?" He's not going to congratulate him for taking a girl away from her mother, is he?

"You made detective. Looks like somebody has a fairy godmother." The news has an instant effect. Rogers smiles, unable to believe his good luck. "Ms. Belfrey must have taken a liking to you," Sam adds, and his words turn Rogers' feelings a little bitter. He doesn't want to owe anything to that woman.

No matter. He's proved his skills and his hard work; he deserves the promotion. He only has a few moments to think about how said promotion will help him look deeper in that girl's case before the desk sergeant speaks again.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to your new partner." He turns and walks towards the office corridors. A few other policemen are gathered outside an office room, and they laugh at something the detective inside is telling them. "Hey, detective. Special delivery for ya. Meet your new partner," Sam says as the detective exits the office.

Rogers is speechless. It's Weaver. Bloody hell, it's Detective Weaver. He's heard a lot about him: him being well-liked and respected amongst fellow officers, him solving almost any case that's fallen into his hands... perhaps he could help him solve his own case.

"Pleasure, detective," Weaver says and offers his hand. It takes a few seconds for Rogers to offer his own - and only - hand, and he feels like an idiot meeting his idol for the first time. He huffs a laugh, trying to cover his awkwardness, and shakes Weaver's hand.

Weaver gives him back a smile, though Rogers is sure it’s not as wide and excited as his own.

"We'll do great work together," Weaver says, looking him up and down. Rogers laughs softly again. "Rogers, huh? You have a first name?"

"Uhh-" Rogers stutters, and swallows hard, ignoring the scorning smiles of his fellow officers. "George. George Rogers."

Weaver raises his eyebrows. "Quite a balance of letters. I'm Eric Weaver. See you tomorrow then. I expect you to be punctual." He waves with a nod and moves past him, walking out the door.

Rogers sighs as he watches him. It still hasn't sunk in. He's a detective, he's partnered with one of the most successful detectives of his precinct, he's finally...

He finally has a better chance of closing his case. He rubs at the back of his neck and closes his eyes, ignoring the daggers his colleagues are probably shooting at his back. He ignores them, as he's done many times before, and walks back to the cruiser.

In his turmoil at Lucy's distress, he forgot to pick up the book. He retrieves it from the trunk, about to put it in evidence... but that illustration is still haunting him, so he leans back on the car and opens the book to that page.

The more he looks at that woman, the more she reminds him of the one who saved him. Miserable, incompetent, unworthy of his job as he was, and she'd saved him.

He reads the story on the left, and finds out that the woman in the book is called Emma Swan. The name doesn't ring a bell, and he thinks himself mad for wanting to search for it, in the rare case of there really being an Emma Swan out there and her being the woman who saved his life.

There have been times he wondered what would have happened if she hadn't. He had no connections, no family; probably the only people who'd remember him would be his AA mates... and seeing as no one else picked up the Eloise Gardener case in all those years, he probably has been her only hope.

But damn him if he was going to give that away. Baby steps, the therapist had said. If his purpose is to find this missing girl - or woman, rather, now - then so be it.

And his savior, this... Emma Swan, or whatever her true name is, gave him that little bit of hope he needed. The hope he needs.

With one last look at her face, he closes the book and walks back to his Chevelle.

Tomorrow will be a big day.


	2. Hurdles on the Road

Rogers wakes up from a dream where he saw himself having both hands again. This kind of dream isn't that uncommon, but today he also saw his new partner... somehow... it was all so blurry.  
  
He spends a few moments in bed, allowing himself to wake up fully, before Enya jumps directly on his stomach, knocking the air out of him.  
  
“Oof!” Rogers says, turning to look at her. Enya looks at him wide-eyed and meows. “Enya! I know you're hungry. No need to knock me out for that.”  
  
He ponders what he should make for breakfast as Enya munches on hers. It's a special day, he thinks; perhaps he can treat himself for today and have something sweet.  
  
He realizes, however, that he doesn't have anything sweet in his apartment aside from marmalade. He doesn't even like it that much... but for some reason he keeps buying jars of it, throwing it away when it eventually goes bad, then buying again...  
  
He sits down on the table and spreads some marmalade on two bread slices, unable to take his eyes off Henry's book. He picks it up and searches for that woman's illustration again. It still strikes him how much she looks like his saviour.  
  
How is that even possible? How could it...  
  
He closes his eyes, contemplating how stupid it would be to just... to just ask the author himself about it. He shakes his head and reaches for his phone. In a matter of minutes, he has found out Henry Mills' address.  
  
Now all he needs is the courage to go ask him. He huffs a laugh. He's been fighting off criminals of all kinds for years, and now he's having trouble asking someone a simple question.  
  
He uses a small piece of paper as a bookmark and closes the book. He dresses, for the first time since he got the job not in his uniform, places a kiss on his purring cat's head and leaves for Henry's place.  
  
Stepping out of his car, he remembers that not everyone is used to being up by six in the morning, so he walks to a cafeteria across the street to offer the lad some coffee.  
  
Swallowing his awkwardness, he walks up to the door and knocks. Nothing happens, though he expected that. He waits for a full minute, then he knocks again. A few moments later, a bleary-eyed Henry Mills opens the door. He doesn't look too disturbed.  
  
“Officer Rogers, hey, hi,” Henry blurts in a sleepy voice. “Why are you here at six in the morning?”  
  
“I have some questions that can't wait,” Rogers says seriously. “Would you like some coffee?” He offers him the coffee cup with a small smile.  
  
“Look, if this is about Jacinda and Lucy, I already feel terrible about what I did,” Henry says, accepting the cup. He beckons him to come inside and turns towards a low-hanging ceiling light. An old-fashioned one, it would seem, as he puts his hand inside and pulls a string that turns it on.  
  
“No, no,” Rogers says, noticing his movements, “This is about something else. I read your book, and there's something in there that I can't get out of my head.” He places his finger between the pages marked by the bookmark. “So, uhm... can you tell me who this woman is?” He opens the book, showing Henry the image that has been haunting him since yesterday.  
  
“Yeah, she's a character in a book of fiction,” Henry says, not bothering to hide his confusion at his behaviour, and sits down. He's probably wondering why Rogers woke him up just to ask him something so silly.  
  
Rogers smiles awkwardly. “I understand that.” He sits down across him. “Uhm... I feel like I've met her before. Now did you base her on someone... somebody real?”  
  
There's a few seconds before Henry answers, where Rogers desperately hopes that he'll say yes, that he knows the woman who saved him, the person who cared for him at his lowest point...  
  
“Truth is,” Henry says and pauses, and Rogers' uncontrolled hope flares up until he hears, “I made her up.”  
  
Rogers smiles at him again and closes the book. “Okay. Sorry to bother you.” He stands up and walks to the door, his eye caught by the ship paintings Henry has hung next to it.  
  
“Actually,” Henry says and Rogers turns back to him. “While you're here, there's something maybe you can help me with. I've been trying to find where some family of mine, Lauren and Abigail Mills, are buried. I keep hitting dead ends.”  
  
Rogers nods, pretending to understand what it feels like, to have had someone you cared about so much you wish to visit their resting place. “It's not exactly my department, but I'll see what I can do.”  
  
“Thank you,” Henry says. Rogers opens the door, but Henry speaks up again. “Oh! And, uh... you were the one who picked up Jacinda and Lucy, huh?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How are they?”  
  
“As of yesterday, not great.” Rogers exits, closing the door behind him. He may not know what being separated feels like, either, but he knows it's hard.

He gets inside his car, throwing the book on the passenger seat. He looks at it for a moment, wondering why it really means that much to him to meet the woman who saved him. Sure, it’s the gratitude he wishes he could give her, but... it’s like there’s something more.

Like she’ll be one to truly be happy to get to know him.

He sighs, throwing his head back on the seat. _Stop pitying yourself, mate_.

He arrives at the precinct five minutes later, exactly fifty-five minutes before his shift starts. He parks his car and walks out, his head held high. He has time to start some deeper research on his Eloise Gardener case, and perhaps he can ask for some help from his partner.  
  
Ah, there he is. He spots him right outside the station, leaning on his car, his back turned on him.  
  
Damn it. Perhaps he should have bought another cup of coffee.  
  
“First day as my partner, and you're late,” he hears Weaver say as soon as he steps closer.  
  
Speechless, Rogers looks around nervously. What's up with him? “But my shift doesn't start for another hour,” he says.  
  
“Do you know why you were partnered with me?” Weaver says, still not turning to look at him.  
  
“Because I work hard and I pay my dues!” Rogers retorts.  
  
“Because _I_ chose you.” Weaver finally turns to him, his expression sour and bitter. Why? “Some of the boys said, 'He can't do the job! Not with that fake hand of his!' but I picked you anyway.”  
  
Was that really necessary? Jokes on his hard work, those he's used to, but on his missing hand? That's low even for them.  
  
Still, Rogers brushes off the insult. “I don't even know you. Why would you pick me?” What's he got to gain from someone he chose out of... spite?  
  
“That's the real question, isn't it? Maybe someday, when you learn how to become a _real_ detective, you can answer it for yourself. Now get in. Big day ahead of us. New guy drives.” Weaver just blurts, not letting Rogers take one single breath, and tosses him his car keys.  
  
Great. So much for making a good first impression.  
  
Still, Rogers comforts himself with the thought that he's got time to prove himself to his new partner. He can't lose this position now, not when he seems to have a real chance.  
  
~  
  
The more the day passes, the stranger things become.  
  
First Weaver outright berating him for... God knows what, then dragging him across the Heights for errands and now taking orders from Belfrey? Granted, Rogers is still happy for his promotion, but he won't stoop so low as to kiss her feet for that. And what does Weaver want with her anyway?  
  
His hand is fidgeting as they walk towards that bar on the road perpendicular to the station – Roni's, per the sign – and Weaver notices. Of course.  
  
“Are you nervous, detective?” he asks, looking straight ahead.  
  
“What? No, no, of course not.” He rubs his hand against his jeans, fighting the urge to hit his head with it. _What the hell?_ It's not the first time he’ll enter a bar since... and it's still morning, it's probably just serving coffee right now...  
  
“Hey,” Weaver says when they reach the entrance, lifting his arm to halt him. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you can stay outside.” He says it with a hidden... he'd almost say, _care_ ... and Rogers swallows hard.  
  
_He knows._  
  
“I'm fine,” he says with his head held high.  
  
Weaver nods and enters the bar, letting the door close behind him... and it takes Rogers two full seconds to follow behind him.  
  
Damn it. He fought to get this job, he'll fight to keep it.  
  
It's empty. The lights are on, the scent of fresh coffee and detergent is in the air, and in addition to Roni herself there's one sole waiter working inside the bar. The latter looks up at them and smiles. Weaver struts confidently towards the bar and claims one of the stools, while Rogers stands a few feet behind. He's passed by this bar countless times, but he's never come in, despite his confidence in his abstinence.  
  
Weaver orders a drink, but with the bartender pouring a glass for herself, he doesn't look too out of place that early in the day.  
  
“Roni. Long time no see,” Weaver says without looking up at her from his drink.  
  
“Not long enough. Now why are you in my bar?” she replies in a stern voice, walking towards him.  
  
“Well, you're the only one that knows this town as well as I do.” He turns to her. “I hear Henry Mills was here today.”  
  
“Bartenders are like therapists. I don't share secrets,” Roni says, turning to him and giving him a fake, tight smile.  
  
_Oh, if only that was enough_ , Rogers thinks.  
  
“Is that so?” Weaver says, clearly not ready to give up.  
  
“Yup.”  
  
After a few seconds of the two looking at each other's eyes, probably silently communicating more than Rogers can pick up, Weaver sighs lightly. “Well, that's okay,” he says. “I always get my answers.” He gulps the rest of his drink down and stands up. Rogers turns to the exit, but Weaver pats on his arm, saying, “Pay for the drink.”  
  
Rogers rolls his eyes briefly and turns towards Roni. He grabs a twenty from his wallet and offers it to her.  
  
“Hey,” she tells him once Weaver's walked out. “Even as a beat cop, I'm sure you've heard to be careful around him, right?”  
  
He smiles lightly at her. “I can take care of myself,” he says. She has no idea how he's had it in his life... and he knows what dangers working for the force includes.  
  
“Yeah, listen,” she adds, not looking convinced at all, “Weaver brings a lot of new partners in here, and not a lot of them come back. So, ask yourself, how badly do you want this job?” she finishes, giving him his change.  
  
Oh, pretty badly. And it's not like he hasn't heard of... disgruntled ex-partners of Weaver. But he's not a killer or anything, and besides... Rogers knows he's good at what he does. Weaver picked him for some reason. Whether that includes some weird kind of testing or not... he'll endure and pass it.  
  
“Have a good day,” he says earnestly, leaving a generous tip.  
  
His shoulders slump, however, as he walks towards the exit. Sure, he wants Weaver's help, and he appreciates his promotion... but is he willing to go as far as he suspects Weaver is?  
  
“There he is, taking his sweet time,” Weaver says when he sees him exit. It only adds fuel to his fire. What's going on with him? Only yesterday he seemed happy to be partnered with him, today he admitted he _picked_ him as a partner, and yet he's been prodding him since early in the morning. “Now let's find this Henry Mills.”  
  
“I'm not doing that,” Rogers says.  
  
“Why, what’s wrong, detective? Afraid we're going too far?”  
  
“I don't think we're going far enough. We've got a job, let's do it. I have a way of getting it done now.”  
  
“Ooh, does someone have a dark side?” Weaver mocks him.  
  
“I'm not the man you think I am.”  
  
He means it. He's not a failure, not a tragedy who depended on his job to keep him on the right path...  
  
~  
  
“Nothing. There's zero dirt on this guy,” Rogers says as he opens yet another box. He concludes that if there was something they could use, they would have found it already... anything, to avoid facing him out in the open.  
  
“Use you eyes, not your hands,” Weaver says, turning towards him and pointing at the book in his hand, titled _The Secret of the Golden Pavilion_ , likely a children’s book,  “and look at what you missed,” and then towards the shelf behind him.  
  
Rogers turns, and he feels his chest constrict when he sees a rag doll resting on the shelf next to some books. “It's a girl,” he says.  
  
_Henry's dead relatives_ , he thinks sadly.  
  
“I'd say this man had a daughter. Doesn't live here now, probably divorced.”  
  
Rogers smells Weaver's plan from miles away. Before he can contemplate too much on whether he likes the idea or not, he tries to dodge the possibility. “Either way, it's hardly dirt,” he says.  
  
“Don't be so literal,” Weaver says, to his dismay. Weaver walks closer. “We're here to find points of vulnerability. And a daughter? That's the grand prize.”  
  
_Shit_.  
  
Rogers looks down, feeling a weight suddenly start to pull him down. He can't- he can't do that. He can't use Henry's dead family against him, he's innocent-  
  
But so is Eloise Gardener.  
  
Perhaps he can still play Weaver-  
  
“Unless that somehow bothers you because,” his partner adds, reaching inside the lantern the same way Rogers did before, and he knows his plan is hopeless. He turns the light off, then on again. “Seeing as how you've been here before...” Weaver looks him in the eye, and Rogers turns away from his scrutiny.  
  
What has he gotten himself into?  
  
And why isn't he running away?  
  
Weaver turns away from him, but Rogers doesn't feel any of the weight lifting. “I need you to be either a good detective, or extremely loyal to me,” Weaver says. “And at this point, I'm pinning all my hopes on 'loyal'. Now you can see why I would be concerned if you lie to me.” He turns back towards him. “Are you loyal?”  
  
Perhaps he still has a chance, even if he has to push his own limits.  
  
“Try me,” he says, hating how weak his voice sounds.  
  
“Oh, I will. I most certainly will.”


	3. Testing Limits

****What is he doing?  
  
Out of everything happening today – from following the orders of the most bossy woman in Hyperion Heights like he's her lackey and searching for a random guy in bars, to breaking and entering his apartment... stealing his keys was a new low.   
  
It was probably the swan keychain, he realizes later, said keys feeling like they're burning him from his jacket pocket.   
  
He grips the wheel tight as he navigates through the busy streets towards the auditorium next to the harbor. A view of the sea never fails to lift the corners of his lips a little, even now when he fears that the smallest mistake can blow his whole career up.   
  
He follows Weaver's directions, parks the car and follows him inside, trying to appear as confident as possible.   
  
Belfrey is inside, arms crossed and fingers anxiously drumming on her arms when she sees them enter. She beckons them to follow her to a wide balcony, her eyes never leaving this Henry Mills. Considering the apparent tragedy and the lack of dirt in his life, Rogers wonders what exactly her problem is with the lad.   
  
Exhaling deeply, she turns towards them.   
  
“I don't care what you do. Frame him, or something,” she says.   
  
“If you'll permit me,” Weaver says and gently removes her sparkling bracelet from her wrist, before adding, “It's like a riddle. What fits in your pocket but pays the rent for a decade?”   
  
“Just put him away,” Belfrey says in exasperation and walks back inside.   
  
“So, you're gonna put that in his pocket here?” Rogers tells him. Is that where they're stooping to now? And all for her approval?   
  
“No, no, not me,” Weaver says and turns to him. “You.” He steps closer, bracelet in hand. “You told me you're not the man I think you are. So...” He takes Rogers' hand in his, and Rogers fights the urge to snatch it away. Rogers keeps eye contact as Weaver puts the bracelet in his hand, saying, “Let's see who you are.”   
  
Weaver turns, following Belfrey inside. Rogers looks towards Henry, who unsuspectingly serves the guests drinks and snacks.   
  
He's innocent. He doesn't deserve this... especially not after losing his family, his daughter...   
  
Rogers hides the bracelet in a pocket and steps inside. He notices how, even with a lot of work, Henry manages to glance at Jacinda, who also despite her workload hasn't stopped smiling.   
  
_A second chance,_ Rogers thinks. The bracelet is weighing heavily on him, and it's then he suddenly remembers the stolen keys in his other pocket. He touches the place where they're hidden, and his guilt starts to overwhelm him.   
  
Slowly, the guests are seated and the ballet performance starts. Classical music blooms in the room and young dancers enter the stage. Rogers stands against a wall and watches, in turn, Henry, Jacinda and the stage... ah, here's that Lucy. He turns to look at Jacinda, and the pride and happiness on her face make his chest constrict in that familiar yet uncanny way. Henry's face is mimicking hers, and Rogers makes his decision.   
  
He glances at Weaver, who gives him a slight nod. Rogers turns, shoulders slumped forward, and reaches for Henry's keys as he walks towards the unsuspecting man. He bumps into him, quickly slipping his keys inside his apron pocket, then retrieving his hand to gesture apologetically at Henry. Henry nods, apparently not that bothered by him, and turns his attention back to the stage.   
  
Rogers walks a few steps away from him, then looks at Weaver. His face is curiously judging, considering what he just asked him to do, though he's too far for Rogers to discern his expression clearly.   
  
No matter. He wasn't going to frame an innocent man. What's done is done.   
  
The performance goes on, and Jacinda doesn't look away for one moment, her face glowing from motherly love.   
  
~   
  
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. If I can have your attention please, my name is Detective Weaver. At some point during this event, Ms Belfrey's bracelet has come up missing.” Rogers notices how Belfrey, feigning innocence, holds her empty wrist protectively. Weaver continues, “I'd like to ask all paying guests to please remain seated. Event employees, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to consent to a quick, non-invasive search.”   
  
“Wait. You're just looking at us?” Jacinda retorts, walking towards him bellirigentely.   
  
“Step back. You have been warned,” Weaver says naturally, per protocol, but he does step closer to her.   
  
Henry runs to them, saying, “Hey! Leave her alone!” and grabs Weaver's shoulder. Weaver throws his elbow back, hitting Henry's cheek, which causes the audience to gasp in shock. Rogers steps closer, knowing he has to detain Henry if necessary , no matter how much he doesn't want to.   
  
“Do _not_ touch a police officer!” Weaver tells him. Henry covers his cheek, which is already starting to bruise, and looks at Rogers as if asking for help. Rogers looks back tentatively. Henry acted first; there's nothing Rogers can do at that point to help him. “In fact, turn out your pockets,” Weaver adds.   
  
Henry scoffs and half-shrugs, his patience obviously waning.   
  
“Are you listening to me?” Weaver asks, stepping closer to Henry. “Turn out your pockets.”   
  
“Okay!” Henry says, keeping a defensive stance. Scoffing again, he puts his hand in his pocket, and in the relative silence, a metal clinking sound can be heard. Immediately, Henry's face changes to one of shock, then to disbelief, then to defense again. “Oh, w- w- well I have no idea how...” He pulls his hand out... only to reveal he's actually holding his keychain. Henry's face relaxes.

As does Jacinda's.  
  
Belfrey's is agitated.   
  
And Weaver's looks disappointed, as he turns to look at Rogers.   
  
~   
  
If Belfrey cared about showing a good face and actually having them search the other employees for appearances’ sake, Rogers will never know, as he storms out of the building.   
  
He doesn't regret it. He only regrets agreeing to be part of this scheme in the first place; he should have walked out as soon as Belfrey ordered them around like dogs this morning. At least then he wouldn't be risking Weaver's full ire.   
  
He doesn't look at the sea. He doesn't want any comfort-slash-wishful thinking right now; he only wants to get rid of this piece of jewelry and try to fix up things as well as he can.   
  
Turning into an almost deserted alley, he stops above a sewer and takes the bracelet out of his pocket.   
  
_For the lucky bastard who'll find it_ , he thinks and lets go of it.   
  
“No, no, no, let's not do that,” Weaver says as he catches the bracelet in time. He turns to stand opposite him and says, “I thought you'd taken this for the money.”   
  
Rogers looks away from him. Is that how low he's been thinking of him? Why the hell would he choose him as a partner then?   
  
“And yet here we are.”   
  
“He's an innocent man,” Rogers says, low enough to not allow any weakness in his voice to be heard. “One who lost a daughter, I couldn't do it to him.” To his relief, Weaver seems to be understanding. However, Rogers adds, “So am I just out of a partner, or am I out of a job too?” He can't say he hasn't been preparing for both of these cases since this morning. He just didn't expect it would've come so early as his first day, or in such a way.   
  
“You asked me why I chose you,” Weaver says. “Because you wanted it so damn much, I thought you'd do just about anything to keep it, cross any line.” Rogers shuffles his feet nervously. So it wasn't just a feeling that people knew about his wishes. They did know. And it makes him uncomfortable, how Weaver thought he could actually betray his ethics just to keep his job... which is based on following ethics. “Then I caught a glimpse of something, something in you I thought was extinct:, a moral core. And that, believe it or not, is exactly what I wanted.”   
  
Rogers looks at him, not certain if he should feel uncomfortable about Weaver knowing so much about him – and misjudging him terribly – or relieved that it all ended well.   
  
“Don't worry about this,” Weaver says, pointing at the bracelet, “I'll put it back where it belongs.”   
  
Definitely relieved. Now, for Weaver's insight... it's not that Rogers had been too secretive about himself. Everyone knew he used to drink, that he got shot and nearly died, that he wanted to become a detective... He feels better thinking that none of them know the actual reason for the latter.   
  
~   
  
He couldn't find any Lauren or Abigail Mills anywhere, but cemeteries aren't the best in updating the names of their... inhabitants. But he can't leave Henry hanging like that, not after the day he'd had, so he makes a list of Seattle cemeteries, from closest to farthest from Henry's place. Perhaps that'll help him make a start.   
  
Roni's is way more crowded now, but he finds a table and sits, waiting for Henry to finish talking with Jacinda. With a smile, he thinks that may take some time.   
  
“Hey there,” he hears someone say next to him. It's one of the caterers from the ballet. “Do you mind if I sit down?” she says, pointing at the seat next to him.   
  
“Go ahead,” Rogers says, smiling up at her.   
  
“Weren't you at the ballet, too? I think I noticed you there,” she says, sitting down.   
  
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I was.” _For different reasons than you probably think_ . “I was with Detective Weaver, but something came up and I had to leave early.”   
  
“Uh-huh. Found a way to dodge Belfrey's furious outburst,” she says with a wide smile, which quickly drops, as if regretting what she'd said.   
  
Quickly, he laughs, to discourage the notion that he has nothing but respect for that woman. “Yeah. My partner got the short end of the stick.”   
  
She sighs in relief, her smile coming back. “I'm Sabine.”   
  
“Rogers,” he says, nodding.   
  
“Can I buy you a drink?”   
  
“Uh, sorry, I don't drink. But I could do with a soda.”   
  
Grateful that she doesn't question his reasons - “Oh, you're still on duty?” “Oh, you're driving?” - he sits for a while with her and they talk, enjoying beer and soda, until Jacinda comes and both women leave.   
  
Huh. It's a small world, after all.   
  
Picking up his papers and his glass, he walks to the bar where Henry is sitting, and he places the folder next to him.   
  
“Hey,” Henry says, setting down the folded towel that he held against his bruised cheek. “What's this?” He picks up the folder.   
  
“Addresses,” Rogers says. “A list of all the cemeteries in Seattle. I couldn't find the names that you were looking for, so I thought that might be a good place for you to start.”   
  
_Is it?_ , he wonders. He never had to search through a cemetery before. At least, not for loved ones.   
  
“You know, I sure was happy to find this tonight,” Henry says, taking out his keychain. Rogers looks at him with a smile, deciding to not share the full story, not now. Henry knows that Belfrey's got it out for him anyway. “Funny thing, I took the bus,” Henry adds. “I could've sworn I left it at home. I always liked swans. That's why I named her 'Emma Swan', the woman from the book.” Ah, there it is. Rogers turns fully towards him, deciding to open up, about the truth behind what that woman meant to him. “She's the mother of the main character, and I guess I wrote the mother I wanted. A hero.”   
  
_A hero indeed_ . “The illustration, you drew that, right?” Rogers says.   
  
“Mm-hmm.”   
  
“My first year on the job I was trying to find a missing girl. Searching for her, I went down the wrong alley, and I got shot,” he confesses, smiling at Henry's intrigued face. His hand goes for the place where his wound was, and he continues. “I didn't see who it was. Then this... woman came from nowhere. She placed her hand on my wound, and she told me to look her in the eye, and said 'If you believe in me, this will work.' She kept me alive until the ambulance arrived. The woman from your book.”   
  
Henry looks at him, half intrigued and half incredulous. Rogers doesn't blame him; he's surprised himself with how easily he shared this story, with all the details.   
  
“Now, I didn't see her again,” Rogers says. “But she gave me a second chance, and I vowed to use it to find that poor little missing girl. I became desperate to succeed.” His voice turns dark, heavy with the memories of everything he went through in the first year of his investigation. “So desperate, that I almost lost myself,” he says with an unsure smile and turns his eyes to his glass.   
  
“Doesn't seem like you have,” Henry says.   
  
“Because of that woman, from your book.” He sees Henry ready to roll his eyes at him, but Rogers continues with something that might actually interest him. “She reminded me that I had to do things the right way, that I had to be a hero like she was. Looking for that girl... it's been nothing but dead ends. It's like someone doesn't want her found, someone with a lot of pull in this town. And after today,  I might have an idea who that is.”   
  
Right at that moment, as if being called, the bartender, Roni, appears in the bar right in front of them and sets down a bowl of salty snacks. Rogers looks at her suspiciously. Has she been eavesdropping, waiting for some juicy gossip? That's not the idea he's had of therapists.   
  
“Roni's okay,” Henry says.   
  
Rogers looks at him, then at Roni... and he doesn't doubt that she might have been burnt by Belfrey too. Half or more of Hyperion Heights already has.   
  
“I have a feeling that all of our problems have the same name. And that name is Victoria Belfrey.” Scrutinizing Roni for her reaction, he's relieved to see her react casually to this, as if she expected to hear exactly that.   
  
“So what are you thinking, Detective?” Roni asks.   
  
“I'm thinking that she's dirty in a way that we don't understand yet. And now that I'm a detective, I can dig into things I never could before, maybe find out what it is she's up to. And if, maybe, someone could point me in the direction of people who are being squeezed by her...” he says, looking at Roni, who seems to be interested in the idea, “... and if somebody could write about it and release it when it's ready...” he now looks at Henry, who has a similar reaction to that, “If we do this... then maybe someday I can find that missing girl.”   
  
“Huh,” Henry says. “Almost sounds like there's enough for a book.”   
  
“Possibly two,” Rogers says with a smile. “You in?”   
  
“Oh, yeah. Are you ready?” Roni tells him.   
  
“Aye. Let's get to work.”   
  
They raise their glasses and clink them, drinking to their new alliance. 


	4. Interposing

A few calm days have passed. Rogers has been joining Weaver in his investigations and consulting the notes of his own investigations.

It's one of those calm mornings today, and while he's sifting through the pages of Eloise's notebook for the millionth time, Roni calls him.

"Hey, I've got news. Can you spare a moment to come by?" she says.

"Perfect timing. Things are quiet here, I can sneak away for a few minutes."

Drinking what remains of his coffee, he puts the notebook in his desk drawer and walks to Roni's.

He's surprised to see all their blinds closed. That's new. It may be still early, but he's walked by the bar other mornings too and he's never seen it like that.

He hears the door unlock and open slightly. Roni's figure can be seen from the opening, beckoning him in.

"Everything all right?" he asks once he's entered.

"Yeah, well... I've been better." She collapses on a chair, rubbing at her forehead.

"Do you want me to bring you something...?"

"No, no. Just having a bad day, is all." She turns her gaze away from him, looking at nowhere. "Come, sit down. I already called Henry, he's on his way. Can I bring you some coffee?"

"Already had some, thanks."

Right then, there's a knock on the door. Roni stands up and walks towards it carefully. She opens the blinds, closes them again and unlocks the door.

"Come on in. Our one-handed detective is already here," she says, and Henry appears from the door.

Rogers turns his gaze away and sighs. What is it with her today?

"What's that?" she asks when she, along with Rogers, notices the big pink box in Henry's hands.

"Wasn't sure what was appropriate for a gathering like this, so I picked up some doughnuts," Henry says and opens the box, and a sweet, sugary scent emerges.

Well, Rogers can't say  _all_  the cliches are a myth...

"Right, 'cause the key to bringing down Victoria Belfrey is a bear claw," Roni says, not bothering to hide the irony in her voice as they both sit down next to him.

"Much appreciated, mate. And you'll excuse Roni, she's a bit ornery."

"Yeah, well, you're new around here, Henry, so soon, you'll be ornery, too. Just give it time," Roni retorts, glaring at Rogers.

"Look, you brought us together because you said you had something," Rogers says, trying to get her to focus on something less upsetting.

"Yes," Roni says. "Last night, I had a customer who works for the building commission. Got pretty drunk." Ah. His past expertise. "Started spouting off about how he was going to make some real money off Belfrey. She needed to do her a favor. Heard him say that they were meeting this afternoon in Hyperion Plaza, across from Belfrey Towers."

"Bribes, public officials, redeveloping the neighborhood at the expense of the new guy... this is good. This is really good," Henry says, and Rogers tries not to laugh at Roni's reaction to this. Henry's excitement about the possibilities is showing. "I mean, it's... bad. It's bad. It's a good story, it's a bad thing," Henry stumbles, struggling to explain himself, feeling like he failed at it.

"Well said," Rogers says in support, still trying not to smile.

"Thank you."

"I'll go and stake it out. If I can get to the guy, maybe I can get him to give us info on everything Belfrey has her dirty little hands on."

"Like your missing girl case?" Roni asks seriously.

"Aye, love."

"A stakeout, huh?" Henry says, his excitement picking up again. "That sounds... pretty cool. Always kind of wondered what one of those was like."

 _Mostly boring_ , Rogers thinks.  _But the doughnuts pair up nicely with it._

"Mind if I tag along with you?" Henry asks.

"Sorry, mate." Henry's face falls again. "I think I'll be less conspicuous alone. Why don't you stick to your expertise and try and do a little research? Figure out who our target is."

"So, I'm research guy. Fun," Henry says, but his tone and face betray that this is anything but fun to him.

"Baby steps," Roni says with a wide smile. Straightening her face, she turns towards Rogers. "I'll keep pouring drinks and make sure to keep my ears open," she says and stands up, walking towards the bar.

Rogers leans towards Henry with a sly smile. "Hey. Don't look so glum. You picked a hell of a bear claw," he says, picking one up and resisting the urge to wink at him. Without looking back, he bites down on the bear claw - one of his favourites, indeed - and walks back towards the station.

* * *

A few hours later, he's found out the name of Belfrey's lackey, Michael Griffiths, matching the description Roni had given him. He hasn't got much time; he has to run off to Hyperion Plaza to witness the exchange between Griffiths and Belfrey.

As he picks up the papers writing about him, he hears Weaver's voice from the door.

"Paperwork... hardest part of the job," he says, clearly clueless to Rogers' plans.

"Yeah. Or the dullest," Rogers replies in a respectfully neutral voice, folding up the papers before Weaver can see them and innocently putting them in his back pocket.

"Here's something else that's dull," Weaver says, offering him an envelope. "Tag this as evidence for me, will you?"

_Bloody hell, not now._

"I'm afraid I can't. I've got something I have to take care of," he says in a calm voice, taking the folder and placing it down on his desk.

"Oh, really? And what would that be?" Weaver asks, casually leaning on the desk.

"It's a court date, a parking ticket I wrote up before my promotion. I'm actually running a bit late," Rogers says, improvising a story.

"Ah. Well, the wheels of justice must keep turning, I suppose," Weaver says, and Rogers has the slightest feeling that he doesn't really believe him.

But he can't really know what's going on, can he?

"Yeah. Look, I won't be long," Rogers says, turning towards the door.

"Who am I to stand in the way?" Weaver says at his back, and his tone confirms Rogers' suspicion that he's not buying his lies.

Well, he'll have to settle for that excuse, no matter how unconvincing it sounds. There's no way Rogers will tell him he's working against the woman Weaver seems to be in favour of. It's not like Weaver will stake  _him_  out.

Rogers turns towards him, mocking an innocent smile. He opens the door and walks to his car.

* * *

There are a few good things about stake-outs, overall.

The park across from the Plaza is cheerful. Groups of families and friends walk around, some play on the grass or they just sit and talk. Rogers looks at his newspaper without really looking at it, waiting to spot Griffiths. It won't be long now.

"Hey, there. Rogers, right?" he hears a voice.

He turns, and it's one of Jacinda's friends that he met at the party after the ballet.

"Ah. Sabine. What a surprise," he says, smiling.

"So, come 'ere often?" she says with a playful eyebrow as she sits on the other side of the bench.

He snorts a laugh, and she smiles back cheerfully at him.

"Oh, sorry! Are you working?" she asks, suddenly worried.

"Yes, actually, but pay no mind. Only thing is I might need to stand up and walk away quickly."

"Oh, okay. I won't stay long either, just walked through the park for my lunch break. I was heading back to work."

And she thought to stop by to greet him. He wants to sigh happily at the realization.

"So it is just Rogers? You don't have a first name?"

He smiles. "It's George. But in my line of work, we always use surnames so I'm more used to hearing my last name."

"Uh-huh. Been long in the force?"

"Aye, about ten years now." As old as Eloise Gardener's case, he thinks.

"Oh, so you're  _that_  used to it," she says with a smile.

"I bet you're not. I mean, for your last name?"

"You bet correct. Anyway, I gotta head back. Nice talking to you, Rogers."

"Nice talking to you too." More than he would truly admit to himself.

She stands up and he catches himself watching her leave, before he mentally shakes himself.  _Back to work_. Just then, he spots Griffiths exiting the Plaza. Luckily, the park is crowded enough for Rogers to avoid raising his suspicion. He glances up from his newspaper towards Griffiths, who stands perfectly straight with his hands in the pockets of his pants like there's nothing wrong.

Ah, there she comes. Belfrey. She couldn't look more classy, with her bag draped over her outstretched lower arm. Rogers guesses she doesn't have to worry about pickpockets... firstly because there's little she could lose by having her purse stolen and secondly, who would dare steal from  _her_?

Belfrey retrieves a small but thick envelope from her purse and gives it to Griffiths. Griffiths immediately puts it in his inside pocket and nods at her. Rogers is too far away to see his mouth, but he has no doubts about what was said.

They both turn to opposite sides, Belfrey walking towards her car, Griffiths back towards the entrance of the Plaza. Rogers folds the newspaper and takes out his phone. He needs to be quick to follow Griffiths, though he's probably heading for the restaurant, the only place in the Plaza that's open for the public.

"Hello?" he hears Roni from his phone.

"Hey, it's Rogers. You were right. I got him."

"Great. That money will turn so sour for him now."

* * *

He finds him sitting alone at a table, looking at his phone. Good. Nice and quiet.

"Michael Griffiths?" Rogers says as he sits down at his table, across from him.

He looks up, annoyed. "Yeah." He puts down his phone. "How do you know who I am?"

"I've been trying to track you all day. Name's Detective Rogers," he says, raising his jacket to show him his badge.

"Oh, okay. Well, good for you." Griffiths smiles mockingly at him, and Rogers guesses he'd call security already if he hadn't just seen the badge.

Rogers smiles back. "I'd like you to answer some questions about Victoria Belfrey."

He purses his lips before they turn back into a smile. "Mm. I don't know anything about her."

"Yeah." Of course. Rogers raises from his chair and reaches over the table towards Griffiths' inside pocket. Griffiths grabs his arm, but Rogers frees it easily, giving him a glare. Rogers reaches inside the pocket, retrieving the envelope. "The bulge in your jacket pocket," he says as he sits back on his chair, "would suggest otherwise." He opens the envelope, briefly revealing the banknotes inside, before he throws it on the table in accusation. He looks him in the eye.

Griffiths leans forward and lowers his voice. Rogers stays where he is, leaning back in the chair. "Hey. You don't want to do this," Griffiths says.

"I assure you, I do." It's not only about finding Eloise anymore. Belfrey's a criminal... and so is the man in front of him.

Griffiths leans back in his chair, barely concealing his disappointment at not being obeyed. "So... how about you keep half of that, and I finish my empanada?"

Ah. Bribing the force. Perhaps Rogers will need to emphasize some parts of his Miranda Rights. "You're coming with me." Rogers stands up, preparing the handcuffs. Griffiths scrunches his face briefly, but stands up and doesn't resist as Rogers handcuffs him.

Taking Belfrey down one lackey at a time.

* * *

While Griffiths is being taken into an interrogation room, Rogers goes by Roni's to let her know of their step forward, but she's not there.

"She's off with Jacinda to help her make a petition," Remy, the other bartender, informs him.

"Petition? For what?"

"To stop Belfrey from releasing bulldozers all over the Community Garden so she can build her luxurious condos. We have one here, wanna sign it?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Just tell Roni to call me when she's back, right?" he says as he signs. There's something about the community garden that creeps him out... yet it doesn't mean it should be destroyed, and if he can help go against that woman...

There's an unpleasant sight, however, waiting for him at the station. As he enters, he looks towards Weaver's office to see him give a card and shake hands with Griffiths, still in his immaculate suit, free of handcuffs. Griffiths turns towards the exit without missing the opportunity to throw a jeering smile at Rogers as he passes him. Rogers doesn't take his eyes off him until he's gone.

He then walks to Weaver. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Well, I should ask you the same. What is this? Extracurricular work, is it?" Weaver says, not bothering to hide his annoyance at him.

"I'm doing my job. That man's a criminal."

"Yeah. And you're a liar."

Rogers swallows hard. He didn't think it would piss him off  _that_  much.

"Court date? Parking ticket? You opened up a case unofficially. Why are you so interested in him?"

"What does it matter? He's a bad guy." No one can deny that. How much will Weaver twist the law for his benefit? And what is he getting out of it?

"It matters because he works for Victoria Belfrey," Weaver says, stepping closer to him and lowering his voice, "and dealing with her requires a bit of finesse."

"Finesse?" Rogers asks, unconvinced. What is this, a mafia? "So we're just supposed to let some lowlife walk the streets?"

"Sometimes, yes. Because now, when she makes a call to that lowlife, he makes one to me," Weaver says smugly. "Enjoy the rest of your day off." He turns around and walks back to his office.

Did he just... dismiss him? For the whole day? Well, half of it, but still...

And what is happening here? Why did this turn into a fight against Weaver all of a sudden? And why is  _he_ interested in Belfrey too?

And why won't Weaver let Rogers aid him in that?

* * *

Enya is waiting for him right behind the door, meowing while he fishes his keys out of his pocket.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he says as he unlocks the door.

When it opens, Enya pops out and rubs her head on his leg, starting to purr.

"Miss me, didn't you?" he says and picks her up, stroking her fur. She settles in his arms, until a fly enters through the open door and Enya jumps down to chase it.

"So much for missing me!" he says with mock annoyance, closing the door. She even ignores him while he pours some fresh food and water in her bowls, content to follow her instincts.

Sighing, Rogers looks out the window. The weather's still great, the sun is shining and from what he can see from his view of the park, there are lots of people taking a stroll, enjoying the last few days of sunshine before Seattle returns to its old habits.

Couples walking hand in hand. Parents pushing strollers or holding their children by the hand. Groups of people walking together and laughing.

Rogers looks down, then at the door to his spare room. There are times he wonders why he bothers paying so much rent for an apartment with a room he never uses, despite his hopes for the place when he first got it. He can easily afford it with his paycheck, of course, but he could use the money for something else instead.

He could move to a smaller apartment. He's been living here for as long as he remembers. Perhaps a move could do him good. There's not a shortage of bad memories connected to this place, anyway. He may have been sober for years, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten how things were before that. He  _shouldn't_  forget, he keeps telling himself.

He groans, turning to lean against the counter. The day started so well, and here he is, moping as if the world came to an end. He needs to get out. But where should he go? He's off duty and if he invites someone to join him for a walk, what will he tell them? That he's too burdened by his issues and his big-ass apartment?

He turns at the sound of Enya jumping around behind him, still chasing the fly, and spots his sneakers next to the door behind her. The two sights inspire an idea, and he smiles.

A run always helps clear the mind.

* * *

His phone rings for the fourth time. It's Roni again, he notices, and he considers answering in case she's actually growing worried. He did go out to arrest a criminal, after all.

He stops, leaning forward on a fence facing the sea, and picks up.

"Hey, Roni," he says, out of breath.

"Hey, you... you alright?"

"Yeah, I went out for a run. I didn't manage to get Griffiths. He's got his ways too."

"Oh, shit. You didn't get anything from him?"

"No. Didn't even get to interrogate him. He got out clean."

"It was to be expected from Belfrey's pets. Anyway, don't worry. We'll catch another one."

"I hope so. How did the petition go?" He turns and starts walking again.

"Oh, good. We had some problems, but we drove that bitch out. Community garden's staying where it is."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Hey, wanna come by later? Drinks on me."

"Sorry, love. I don't-..." he sighs. He's not ready to share his full story. "I have an early shift tomorrow."

"Okay. Let's hope we'll be luckier next time."

"We shall. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Rogers."

He hangs up and pockets his phone again. Did she really sound as... worried as he thinks? She shouldn't, really - danger is part of being a police officer - but it gives him a warm feeling, not unlike the one he had when Sabine stopped by his bench to greet him.

 _Snap out of it, loser_ , he mocks himself as he picks up on his pace again.


	5. The Rook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, you guessed it, Tilly’s finally here! Yay! So I’ve got to admit this episode confused me a bit with its scenes, especially the one where Rogers talks to Weaver while in the hospital. With what we see Rogers say, he knows how Tilly looks like, that she’s in the hospital and has taken her pills. So, there must have been a scene with them before that. However, we never found out what exactly Tilly’s illness is, and what her medication is called, but I didn’t want to improvise on such a matter, so I’m kinda dodging it while also writing it. 
> 
> In any case, I need to let you know that this chapter contains a short scene where a character is in a state of shock. 
> 
> Also, I know this did is T-rated, but this chapter throws the first f-bomb.

It's a quiet morning in the station. It's still early, and the exhausted officers are quiet, waiting for their night shift to be officially over.

Rogers sits at his desk, one of the few from the morning shift. He still has a lot of time before he has to actually get to work; he could take a look at the Eloise Gardener papers, but his mind is elsewhere.

An unsettling feeling has been plaguing him the past few days; perhaps it's the anticipation of more clues on the case, perhaps it's not. He finds himself playing with his therapist's card on his fingers. He hasn't visited her in some time. He could talk about some things. Maybe his promotion, though he'd have to be discreet about that certain case and how said promotion might help him crack it open.

Suddenly, he turns towards the entrance when the sound of a wild, ear-piercing cry fills the station. He turns, and a helpless Sam is trying to balance a baby in his arms.

"What's going on?" he asks him.

Sam looks up at him. "Sommer just brought in a drug user. Caught her driving while high, and she had this kid with her."

"That late?" Rogers asks, even though for him it's early. "I'll call social services."

Five minutes later Rogers has gathered all the information and called the CPD. He rubs at his forehead as the cries get louder. "Ugh. Aren't there any parents here?"

"Ironically, it's because they're parents that they're not here yet."

Rogers sighs. Fair enough. He wouldn't be lying if he said that the reason he's always willing to come to work early is because of how empty his apartment feels.

_Whoa there, mate._

Dukes has reluctantly offered to try to calm the baby down, if only because she seemed to take pity on Sam. Rogers walks to her desk, unsurprised to see her helpless as well.

"They make it look so easy in the movies," she mutters at him as she keeps trying to rock the baby. Michael Brinton, three months old. Strong lungs, if he says so himself.

Rogers squints a little at the baby's appearance. His hair seems unwashed and his clothes have certainly seen better days.

"And his mother is a drug user?"

"User, dealer, who knows. Not fit for a mother, that's for sure."

"Hey," he snaps back. "It's not our job to judge them."

"Yeah, right, Eagle Scout. Want to check if you've got it?"

"Excuse me?"

Dukes simply stands up from her chair and hands him the baby before he has a chance to react. "I need an aspirin."

"Damnit, Dukes!" he says as he hastily tries to position his arms to hold the baby. Is he old enough to keep his head up? What if his prosthesis gives up suddenly and he...

Michael emits another ear-piercing cry and Rogers squints. He looks around but everyone simply avoids his gaze.

"Hey, hey..." Rogers says and starts rocking the baby in his arms. "Hush, hush, it's okay."

He doesn't know why, but Michael looks right at him, even though he's still crying softly.

"Hush, hush... uh..." He looks around for some help, but none seems available, so he turns back to the crying baby. "Uh... how does that go... uh... Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb, Mary had a little lamb..." he starts singing softly but trails off as he can't recall the lyrics.

"Its fleece was white as snow!" someone from another desk offers.

"Uh, right." He keeps rocking the baby as he sings the lyrics again, his voice going softer as the baby calms down. Rogers finds himself sitting down on a chair, his eyes not moving away. He shivers as a warm feeling fills his chest, at the sight of Michael looking at him with wide eyes, as if transfixed by the song.

"Wait until you hear that melody freaking everywhere," he says with a smile, continuing to sing and rock him. Michael gives him a broad, toothless smile and Rogers pauses for a moment, feeling like crying. He swallows hard and shakes his head, remembering where he is.

Soon enough, Michael falls asleep in his arms. Rogers can sense every head in the precinct having turned towards him, but he can't take his eyes off of the baby.

"Wow," he hears and finally looks up. It's Weaver, staring at them. "Someone's got a hidden talent."

Rogers shrugs, feeling his face start to go red. "It's just... I don't know. It was just a song." He bites his lip, feeling the urge to scratch the place behind his ear.

"I didn't even know you sing," Dukes says, coming closer as well.

"Hey, you might wanna keep it down? You remember what's it like when he's awake? Has anyone even fed him?"

"I'm sorry, my boobs can't produce milk on demand," Dukes retorts.

Rogers rolls his eyes at her, but right then he sees two women in suits enter through the door.

"Good morning, officers," one of them says, walking over to him. "Jena Maxwell and Lilith Wiemann, CPD. Is the baby alright?"

Rogers nods. "Aye, but he's probably hungry."

"We can take care of that," Lilith says as she leans down towards him. "Let me," she says, offering her arms to take the baby.

His hesitation lasts only for half a second; no-one seems to notice, but it's enough to trouble him as he puts Michael in her arms. What's wrong with him? It's just a random baby, whose safety he should look out for. Why did he hesitate, even for half a second, to give him over?

"Is he... gonna go into the system?"

"We'll contact any family his mother might have. If nobody is available, a foster family will provide for him."

This time he knows why he feels that shiver down his spine. At least Michael will know his mother's name, even if he never gets to know her in person.

He closes his eyes and sighs as Sommer provides the social workers with the information they need. The last thing Rogers needs right now is to trigger a flashback.

He opens his eyes and watches Lilith rock the baby, still fast asleep in her arms. She's probably dealt with numerous babies, he thinks. She knows how to keep them calm.

So does he, apparently, out of nowhere.

The social workers leave with the baby, and Dukes watches, then turns to him. "So, any secrets you'd like to share?"

He throws his hands up. "It was just a song everyone has heard and knows of. He probably just wanted to listen to something calm."

"Hmm-mm. Now do you wanna get off my chair?"

Rogers blinks, realizing he's been sitting down on Dukes' desk this whole time. He stands up awkwardly and walks to his desk.

"Didn't peg you for such a nurturer," Weaver says without looking up from his papers.

Rogers tsks. "It was just a nursery rhyme."

"And it makes you uncomfortable that we're pointing it out? Hurts your masculinity?" He finally looks up.

"Hardly," he says, sitting down on his chair. "But it's probably unfair towards actual, caring parents."

"Why, I think you'd make a great, actual caring parent."

Rogers snorts. "Thanks?"

"Considering you hesitated giving the baby over."

Rogers' face falls.

Weaver, on the other hand, smiles. "A bit of advice, if you wanna keep up with the detective business: work on your poker face."

Rogers swallows hard, at a loss for words to say back, but Weaver's phone rings right at that moment. After a few words, Weaver excuses himself and walks out, leaving Rogers feeling confused and awkward.

* * *

It's midday and Rogers' eyes start to hurt. He'd usually be happy not to be a beat cop during a rush such as now, during Halloween, but he's looked at and checked and written too many words for the past few hours.

And Weaver's still gone. Rogers taps his pen on his desk, anxious about the whole situation with him. He wonders what kind of a day it will be today with him.

"Detective," he hears.

Speak of the devil. He turns toward Weaver, who is standing at the entrance of their shared office . "Yeah?"

"Let's go for a walk. You seem like you need it."

Rogers opens his mouth, looks at his paperwork, then back at Weaver. Weaver beckons him to the exit, and Rogers realizes it's not just any walk he wants them to take.

"I got a call from Victoria Belfrey a while ago," Weaver says once they're a safe distance away from the building.

"Ah," Rogers says out loud. Now it makes sense.

"She said one of my informants 'accosted' her today."

"Your informants?" Rogers asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

Weaver gives him a stern look, and Rogers is forced to look away.

"Her name is Tilly. She's been working for me for the past year or so. Normally, she's under medication, but apparently she's gone off her meds today."

Rogers swallows hard. "Is it serious?"

"I don't think she did it on purpose. She misplaced her bag, but convincing her to start taking them again will take some persuasion. And Belfrey wants that to be done the hard way."

"So she's really got it in for the girl, huh?"

"No, that's not it. I saw something in Belfrey's eyes that I have never seen before. Fear. This is about something much bigger," Weaver says, seeming hopeful he'll crack the case open.

"And you think your informant has the answers?"

"Tilly? Best eyes and ears in Hyperion Heights. Told me she's been noticing things lately."

"Things that Belfrey doesn't want to get out," Rogers guesses.

"We need to find out what that is."

At any cost for Tilly? "So you can use this as leverage against her."

"Well, that's how this game works, Detective."

"Is that all this girl is to you and Belfrey? A pawn?" Rogers says, and Weaver turns his head away from him, looking down. "Then why don't we split up, since one of us actually wants to help her?" He turns to him, stopping in his tracks. Rogers may have agreed on - or better, chose to ignore - Weaver's questionable methods, but he draws the line at taking advantage of people.

"Oh, and I suppose you think that's you? What, the champion of lost girls?" Weaver retorts, voice full of irony.

_What?_

"Yeah, I've seen your cold case. The one with the missing girl," Weaver adds, and it's Rogers' time to look down at his feet.

_Fuck_.

Weaver leans in closer, saying, "Little tip; do not bring your baggage to my work. Tilly is my informant and I'll deal with her my way."

"I thought you actually cared about that girl," Rogers says in a low voice, feeling defeated.

"Oh well, that's your mistake, Detective. I don't care about anyone." Weaver turns and starts walking forward, with Rogers watching him, speechless.

So, Weaver tested him and made him fear he'd lose his job before he admitted he'd actually chosen him as a partner. Now he's more or less admitted he wants to take Belfrey down as well, but only by taking advantage of his informants. And if Rogers judged by what he heard about Tilly... those informants don't actually sound like people who have much of a choice in the matter.

"Are you coming, Detective?" Weaver says.

Rogers sighs softly and follows him back to the station. So if Weaver doesn't care about anyone, why is it that he's opposing Belfrey? Why not join her? Is it all about competition? Him or her?

* * *

Rogers looks out the window at children going treat-or-treating. Small witches, ghosts, skeletons, some accompanied by older siblings - he guesses - or parents.

He sighs. Holiday seasons have always served as a sad reminder of his state.

He shifts his eyes from the window to the box with the clues on Eloise's case. Weaver must have looked through them, and Rogers doesn't know what upsets him more, the fact that he disrespected his privacy or that he has something against him now. Rogers will have to do something about that.

His phone rings, and he's glad for the distraction.

"Detective Rogers," he answers.

* * *

He's walked down the Hyperion Heights Hospital corridors many times, mostly to accompany criminals upon admission or discharge. And that one time where he was dragged in there himself.

Apparently, Weaver's influence is far-reaching, as he doesn't think he's ever been in this wing of the hospital.  _Only the best for Detective Weaver_ , he thinks.

"This is the woman that brought him in," a nurse says, pointing at a girl sitting in the aisle, face buried in her hands. "We managed to get that she's called Tilly."

"Thank you," Rogers says. "I'll take it from here."

As he walks closer to the girl, he can see that she's rocking to and fro slightly, hands and knees trembling. She's whispering something unintelligible under her breath. He kneels down and opens his mouth to talk to her, but he suddenly gets that she's whispering, "I shot him, I shot him," over and over again.

Instinctively, his hand goes for the handle of his gun, but at the sight of her his heart sinks. He doesn't know what her condition does to her - or even what it is - but she certainly seems like she didn't mean it.

He swallows hard, and takes his hand away from the gun, moving his left arm to cover the sight of the weapon. "Tilly?" he says calmly.

Her head whips up high as she inhales sharply, then locates him kneeling down in front of her. She lowers her head. "You're small," she says. "I thought you would be bigger."

"You recognize these?" he says, showing her her pills.

Tilly nods.

"You need to take them, love, okay?"

"They make my mind foggy."

"I know, I know. It's hard. But trust me, you need them right now."

Trust him? She doesn't even know him.

"Okay," she says, however, surprising him. She takes the bottle from his hand, pours out one pill and swallows it down.

Rogers looks speechless as she puts the bottle down on the table next to her. That was easy.

"I'll go see Detective Weaver now, okay? Don't go anywhere. I'll be in that room if you need anything," Rogers says, pointing at the door to where Weaver is resting.

Tilly nods. "Okay."

Sighing heavily, Rogers stands up. This day has been so full and it's not over yet.

* * *

Weaver is still out, and Rogers turns the bullet that nearly killed him - the one that would have normally killed him - between his fingers. Even the bullet seems to be in a worse condition than Weaver.

Speaking of which, Weaver startles awake, as if from a vivid dream.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," Rogers says, smiling. He really is, damned bastard. For some reason, however, he wasn't that worried about him. He somehow knew he'd make it out safe.

Weaver coughs. "What's that?" he whispers, looking at the bullet in Rogers' hand.

"This is a lucky bullet for a lucky bastard. Tore right through you." Rogers hands him the thing that nearly ended him, and Weaver takes it, wearily looking at it. "You should be dead, by all accounts. You must be bloody immortal," he says, smiling.

"Immortal?" Weaver asks, apparently serious.

Rogers glances sideways, confused but still smiling. "That was a joke, mate."

Weaver looks away, and after a pause, says, "Where's Tilly?"

Tilly. Her state  _was_  something he worried about , he'll admit. "She's out in the waiting room. She's taken her pills, she's quiet as a dormouse now."

"Good," Weaver says weakly. "I want you to file a report. It was a masked robber. He came out of nowhere, fled on foot."

Rogers raises an eyebrow at him. "A masked robber?" Is that it? Weaver's the one who nearly died, and he's willingly covering for his near murderer?

Way too easy.

"Find the girl. Tell her she's free to go." If Weaver sees Rogers' suspicions, he doesn't show it.

Rogers can't help a small smile. He doesn't know why, but he's relieved Tilly won't get in trouble. "Well, perhaps you do care about her."

"Did I ask your opinion, Rogers?" Weaver says, suddenly angry.

Rogers furrows his eyebrows. Isn't this the same Weaver who taunted him about how 'nurturing' he was with the baby that same morning?

Opting to give him space and time to heal, Rogers simply swallows his comeback and turns to the door.

Tilly is still sitting in the same spot, only there's a chess set at the table now, and she's looking at it, apparently without focusing on it.

"So..." he says and she turns to him slowly, still looking mildly terrified. "You're the informant that got underneath that tough bastard's skin."

She sighs, relaxing a little. "Is he gonna be alright?" she says, voice betraying the effect her pill had on her.

He tries to keep his emotions tight. She doesn't deserve to feel numb from her medication, but she did shoot Weaver... if he were honest with himself, he'd have to say he's mostly confused with his own feelings about this.

"Yeah, he'll live... no thanks to you," he says, trying to not sound accusatory.

"I can't believe I shot him!" she says, looking away. "Am I in trouble?" She turns to look at him again.

He looks around, making sure there's no-one in ear-shot around them. "Look, you weren't in your... right frame of mind," he says, trying to pick his words carefully. He needs to be realistic, but also gentle towards her.

_Part of his job_ , he thinks.

"He doesn't blame you," he adds. "Just... don't say anything and we'll sort it all out."

"I'm so sorry," she says softly, and he has the sudden compulsion to stroke her head. "I never wanna get so... upside-down again. I promise, I'll keep taking my pills."

"Yeah, that'd be advisable." He looks down at the chessboard. "So, you... you're playing yourself?" He sits down in the chair across from her.

"Yeah." She chuckles softly, and he smiles. "We're our own greatest obstacle. Do you play? Detective..."

"Rogers. Yeah. I've been known to dabble a little bit."

He smiles at her and she laughs. He feels a surge of contentment at the sound, and he has no idea why. He feels... happy, that she's feeling all better now.

Well, isn't that part of his job too? To make sure people feel... better, safe?

* * *

He loses the match but is happy to see Tilly smile at her victory.

"Well, if I'm free to go, I'd better go, right?" she says with a bright smile.

"I'll give you a lift," he says, standing up.

"Oh no, it's no need. I walk around Hyperion Heights all day long, I can handle a few minutes' walk."

"Well, where do you live?"

"Near the Troll. The- the Troll under the bridge."

"The Fremont Troll? That's twenty minutes' walk from here, and it's late, please, let me take you."

She huffs, rolling her eyes. "Fine. But I'm old enough to tie my shoelaces, you know that, right?"

He laughs lightly, glad she doesn't feel insulted. She does look more tired than when he first saw her. The Troll is close to the station anyway.

The place where she tells him to drop her off doesn't look very hospitable. It's right next to the railroad, and he can't see any real houses. He's pretty sure this place is full of warehouses and shipping containers. Is that where she lives?

"We're here!" she says in an excited voice. "Goodnight, Detective," she turns to him with a wide smile, which then turns earnest. "And thank you," she says in a calm voice.

"Don't worry about it, Tilly."

She nods, the soft smile still on her face, then gets out. He follows her with his gaze until she disappears behind a corner.

His face falls. Where does that poor girl live?

He sighs and shakes his head. Today was indeed a full day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in 7x20, Rogers admitted to feeling an instant connection to Tilly. However, say it's the writing, the acting (boo!) or the whole presentation, that's not the impression I got from the very beginning. I tried to make it subtle here, but don't forget he's also got the Eloise matter haunting him, so it's complicated. Things are definitely gonna get deeper later!

**Author's Note:**

> There'll be some very minor changes here and there, not any that affect the plot, but I'll also try to add "deleted scenes", ones that will explore Rogers' relationships with the rest of the characters. I also may add flashbacks from before the curse (at any point, from Alice's birth to the curse being cast).
> 
> SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE BELOW
> 
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> I'm preparing you now, I'll be changing some stuff towards the end. Very light changes, but a) I didn't like how the Rumpelstiltskin/Hook thing was resolved in 7x18, so I'll be considering them very reluctant friends once the curse is broken (especially from Hook's side), and b) I'll be keeping Rumpelstiltskin's sacrifice in the finale, but I'll be changing things a little so that there'll be both focus on that and the focus the Alice/Killian reunion deserved. I'm just saying this now so you'll know what to expect.


End file.
